AND A CAST OF THOUSANDS

Rip It Up, 15 December 1983, Page 4

AND A CAST OF THOUSANDS

79999 AND RUSSELL BROWN

It's like approaching some damn big party walking to Western Springs. Groups of youth strolling along, laughing, sprawled half-in, half-out of their cars, sitting on grass verges drinking and watching the crowds. The manner in which cars have been parked bodes ill for after the concert. As we get closer there are a couple of teenagers nervously busking. They're playing Toy Love's 'Pull Down the Shades'. MOTAT's trams are stopping for no one and groups have to scatter before one as it rolls down the line. It's all fairly comfortable and unhurried people have had a long time to arrive. At the park gate the 'No Alcohol' signs are up and some are busily consuming the last of their supplies before entering. The security guards' policy towards booze is less than consistent one girl has a can of Steinlager snatched from her pocket

just inside the fence (the

guard, not realising the can is open, tries to be flamboyant and in one

movement grabs it and tosses it to a fellow guard, who is soaked in beer) while others wander through with plastic bottles of "orange juice". Inside, the number of people is quite awe-inspiring, with the speckled blanket of humanity stretching right up around the hills. Seats on the slopes are already at a premium.

The Dance Exponents are only just beginning but already there's a fair

scattering of casualties. One youth lies unconscious by a small pile of vomit, presumably his own. Others are still seeing but lie on their backs, beyond moving, staring up at those awkwardly making their way through the crowd. Most people, however, are still on their feet and fit to take in the performance to come.

The Exponents naturally have an odd sort of sound and there's the occasional flat spot in their set but they go down well with those bothering to listen. It's

'Victoria' naturally enough, that really gets 'em going there's even an audible singalong from the crowd.

The Models are less successful. They don't have songs in the same sense as the Exponents and only a long version of 'I Hear

Motion' stands out from the general bass-heavy jumble. They'd probably sound a lot better indoors.

A trip to the toilet (and a prayer that I could find my way back) and, ye gods, people are actually queueing to use the facilities and not just finding a handy wall or bush. There's not much of a wait for the men's, but the facilities for the women's are naturally a little more strained. So much so that a couple of girls are unselfconsciously waiting for

a cubicle in the men's—sensible. Outside, there are still many people hanging around on the wrong side of the fence. Some of them managed to get in later (one group with wire cutters and another simply by charging the fence) but the majority didn't bother trying.

There's another short wait before the main act. About a third of those on the flat sit down. Things are getting looser now, orange juice and funny cigarettes. From about half way back it's easier to watch the action on the giant video screen above the stage than to strain for a glimpse of the little white figure below. You get used to it. Things are pretty civilised here. The only problems arise when some fool hoists his girlfriend up on to his shoulders so she can see the stage, meaning those immediately behind can't even see the screen. One

such girl is hit in the back of the head with an empty plastic bottle. It could have been glass.

It's more boisterous up front. Our photographer

described it later as exciting and a little frightening. Several people per song

being dragged over the front barrier and carried out. The guards initially handing out cups of water, then throwing buckets of water and

eventually turning a hose on the front rows. Someone

yelling out that they weren't animals. After Bowie leaves the stage the calls for an encore begin. They're strangely muted certainly not the sound of 80,000 throats roaring for more.

Bowie comes to the front of the stage and makes a little speech about what a

"beautiful" audience we've been. He releases a dove for peace it promptly flutters straight back down and walks backstage. The boy

who played Bowie's little brother in Merry Christmas Mr Lawrence releases a dove also ("For New Zealand," says David) and it plays its part somewhat better than the first bird. A second encore is virtually inevitable he hasn't done TVlodern Love'. It happens, he does and it's all over. The impression left, despite the waxing lyrical about the crowd and it being the last date of the world tour, is one of a man performing well within his limits.

Leaving the stadium is a bundle of fun. Baaaaaaa, somebody bleats. It's answered and soon there is a chorus of sheep noises. Singing, silliness, fatigue ...

It's all over bar the departures and it's been more a giant youth gathering than a concert. As that, it's valid, quite bearable if you like other human beings, like a party. It's certainly a lousy way to hear music.